


Sinking

by Bofur1, ImGaladriel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother Relationships, Company Feels, Danger, Gaining Respect, Gen, Major Character Almost Death, Mid-Quest, Mistakes, Near Suffocation, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImGaladriel/pseuds/ImGaladriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For kili99's prompt:</p><p>  <em>"Thorin is being all gruff as usual, but he really snaps off at Bofur. Of course it's only because he's stressed but that's not how it comes across. Fíli and Kíli notice and make an elaborate plan to make Thorin respect Bofur. Things don't go as planned however...and Bofur ends up being a true hero!!"<em></em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kili99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kili99/gifts).



> This turned into a huge, raging monster, sorry!! 8P

“Hey, Fíli,” Kíli laughed, poking his brother in the arm. “I think Bofur’s making up another one of his carols.”

Fíli chuckled too. “What is it this time?”

“A traveling tune, I think.” Kíli and Fíli simultaneously slowed their ponies, straining to catch the words.

Sure enough, Bofur began singing in his merry tenor, tapping out a rhythm against his pony’s saddle.

_“‘Gypsy Rover came over the hill_

_down through the valley so shady_

_He whistled and he sang till the green woods rang_

_and he won the heart of a lady_

_She left her home, her castle great_

_she left her fair young lover_

_she left her servants and her estate_

_to follow the Gypsy Rover_

_Her father saddled up his fastest steed_

_roamed the valleys all over_

_sought his daughter at greatest speed_

_and the whistlin' Gypsy Rover_

_He came unto a mansion fine_

_down by the river so shady—’”_

 

“And you believe this Quest to be such a fanciful pursuit?” Thorin cut in, his tone sheathed in ice.

Bofur froze, the smile vanishing from his face as quick as it had found its way there. When he saw the King scowling angrily at him, Bofur flushed, stammering, “I...I’m sorry if th’ song wasn’t t’ yer likin’—”

“I didn’t allow you admission into this Company for your overly cheerful and utterly distracting tunes, _miner_. If you wish to sing incessantly go home and leave me to my business. We wouldn’t miss you,” Thorin pronounced harshly.

“Thorin!” Balin was shocked.

“You’ve something to add?” Thorin demanded, turning on him. Balin was hardly cowed by the King’s severe expression, instead responding with a vehement glare that most of the Company found to be even scarier.

“Indeed I do. There’s no need to hurt the lad’s feelings when he was simply trying to cheer the mood!”

“The mood did not need his trilling and I don’t need a headache,” Thorin answered sharply. “If I decide otherwise the miner will be the first to know. Now, the matter is closed.”

Balin certainly didn’t seem to think so. He opened his mouth to protest again, but he was interrupted.

“It’s a’right, Master Balin. He’s right; I shouldn’t have been singin’ if I wasn’t given permission,” Bofur agreed reservedly. “An’ like he said, the matter’s closed.” Falling silent, he pulled his hat lower, shadowing his eyes.

Fíli and Kíli cast each other unsettled glances.

=

“There must be something we can do for Bofur!” Kíli cried in frustration.

“We have to get Uncle to respect him,” Fíli agreed. “That way he’ll feel better.”

“But what can we do?” Kíli asked, dismayed. “If we try to talk to Uncle about it, you know what he’ll say.” He and Fíli rolled their eyes crossly, mimicking Thorin in unison: “‘It’s none of your concern, boys.’”

Fíli paced back and forth, twisting one of his moustache braids around his finger. Then he paused. “What if...what if we _made_ it our concern?”

“What do you mean?”

Fíli spun around, his eyes ignited with the familiar gleam of an approaching idea. “What if one of us somehow —” He drew generous air quotes. “—‘got in danger’?”

Kíli’s eyes lit up with understanding. “...Then one of us could go and get Bofur to come and ‘rescue’ the other...”

“...Then we’d tell Uncle Thorin and after he was done fussing he would respect Bofur because he helped us out!” Fíli finished proudly.

Kíli leapt to his feet with enthusiasm. “Which one of us should ‘be in danger’, and what should the ‘danger’ be?”

“C’mon,” Fíli urged, motioning for his brother to follow. The elder Heir of Durin led the younger up toward a large cluster of multi-sized rocks. “You should be the one who supposedly needs help.”

“Why me?” Kíli asked, perplexed.

“Because people expect you to get in trouble!” Fíli answered immediately.

Kíli looked indignant. “Hey!”

“Oh, c’mon, Kee, you know it’s true. People think that you’re less experienced because you’re younger. That’s how it is for everyone,” Fíli explained. When his brother relented with a reluctant nod, he continued, “Maybe you could pretend to trip and get stuck between the rocks, but you’d have to do it carefully so you don’t actually get hurt.”

“Where and how am I supposed to do that?” Kíli demanded. “I can’t fake a trip!”

“Well, then, train yourself to fall the way we want,” Fíli suggested. He pointed to a small, sandy hole between two rocks. “See, there’s a good spot. I’ll show you how it works.”

Climbing up to the proper height, Fíli lined up his feet as though he were going to trip. “You do this and then make yourself fall backward on the hole. The hole’s too small for you to really fall in, so it’s perfectly safe. You act all scared and stuff, then I run back, grab Bofur, he pulls you out, and Thorin thanks him for saving you.”

“But I told you, I can’t fake a trip!” Kíli protested.

Fíli shrugged. “Then trip for real and just don’t get hurt. Do it like this.” Fíli locked one of his boots around the other and pushed his feet out from under himself. When he landed on the hole, the eye was fooled into thinking he was wedged in.

“Oh, I get it!” Kíli exclaimed eagerly.

Fíli grinned, quite pleased with his success. “Easy as—”

Suddenly Kíli found himself rolling backward, bashing his face and body painfully against the stones. A crusty hissing grated against his ears as he landed on the ground below the pile of rocks. There was a finalizing _boom_ and then all was quiet.

Kíli’s groan as he struggled to all fours was loud in the silence. Spewing sand from his mouth, Kíli coughed, “What was that?!” He looked up and saw a cloud of dust settling ominously down upon where his older brother had been.

Kíli leapt to his feet. “Fee, where are you?” he called uneasily. There was no answer. Dread began brewing in Kíli’s stomach and he scrambled up the rocks. This was not easy, as they’d all been loosened from their original places, but eventually Kíli made it to the top. What he saw chilled his bones.

From that one small hole had opened up a colossal sinkhole that stretched at least seven yards across. All the rocks on that side of the mound had been sucked into the gaping maw of sunken grit and...Fíli was nowhere to be seen.

“Fíli!” Kíli cried out. “Brother, answer me!” Leaning dangerously forward, Kíli peered down. At first he could see no sign until his eyes, attuned by archery, caught sight of bloodied fingers splayed lifelessly in the sand.

“ _Fíli!_ ” Kíli screamed. Lurching backward, he slid down to the lower ground and bolted for the nearby camp, wailing, “Uncle, Uncle!”

Thorin whirled just in time for Kíli to fly into his arms. “Kíli! What is it, what’s wrong?!” Thorin demanded, pulling back to look his nephew over. Kíli’s face was bruised, dusty, and tear-streaked.

Kíli was trembling so violently he could barely stand. “Fíli,” he choked out. “It’s Fíli—he fell into a sinkhole and he’s pinned under these rocks and he won’t answer me!”

The color drained from Thorin’s face. “Take me there now!”

Sobbing, Kíli turned and began stumbling back toward the pile of rocks. The Company hurried after him.

Gingerly Thorin followed Kíli up the mound. His gasp caused the Company to wince.

“Where...where’d you see him, Kíli?” Thorin asked, trying to keep his voice level.

Kíli sank down on the edge of the sinkhole, crying wretchedly. Pursing his lips, Thorin knelt beside the hysterical boy and gathered him up in his arms. Burying his face in Thorin’s neck, Kíli bawled.

“Kíli,” Thorin whispered once the lad was somewhat more rational. “Please, my dear Kíli. If we’re to have a chance of saving Fíli you _must_ show me where you saw him!”

Gulping raggedly, Kíli pointed toward the bottom. Thorin followed his nephew’s finger and drew in another sharp breath.

“F-Fíli?” Thorin said anxiously. No response. Carefully rising to his feet, Thorin guided Kíli back down to the others. “Take him, Balin,” he half-begged of his cousin. Balin nodded, instantly wrapping Kíli in a tight embrace.

“Dwalin. It’s really bad,” Thorin said softly.

Dwalin looked flustered. “I...Thorin, I don’t know what to do. I didn’t bring the equipment we’d need for a sinkhole rescue.”

“But we can’t just leave him down there,” Thorin pleaded, his voice breaking.

“I know, I know,” Dwalin agreed apprehensively. “Just give me some time—”

Bombur abruptly cried out. “What are you doing?! Don’t—!” His words were cut off by a strident clank and a calm “Geronimo.”

Landing with a skid at the bottom of the sinkhole, Bofur approached the rubble.

“Fíli?” he whispered. “If ye can hear me, try movin’ yer fingers, please.” The fingers didn’t move. “Best get ye out before ye suffocate,” Bofur muttered, unhooking his mattock from the ground above. Carefully he began moving the debris and then froze when he heard sifting of dirt. Looking up, Bofur gulped as he watched the mound slide slightly. If it all came down it would enclose Fíli’s head completely and he would have even less time to retrieve him. Caution was essential.

Bofur squatted on his heels and studied his problem. He reached out with gentle fingertips and brushed sand from a particularly large rock. When he attempted to move it, sand shifted.

“A’right, then,” Bofur mused to himself. “Keep away from that one.”

“Bofur, what on earth are you doing?!” Dwalin barked from above his head, having approached the brink of the pit.

“What d’ye think? I’m rescuin’ Fíli.”

Dwalin shifted his weight back and forth, unsure whether he should stay and oversee Bofur’s actions. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m a miner,” Bofur replied quietly. “I speak t’ th’ stone. It responds t’ me better than anyone else, no offense. I listen t’ it an’ I know...” He paused, tilting his head sharply. “I know when it’s about t’ fall. What’re ye doin’ up there—?!”

Dwalin leapt back, startled. The way he’d been moving his weight around was unwise. Losing hold, the large edge stones slid, tumbling downward. Bofur hollered in pain, staggering to the ground as they struck him in the head in succession. Grit spilled down next, pooling swiftly on top of him.

Dwalin cursed fearfully as he fell on his rump. When he ran out of swearwords he panted, “Bofur, you alright?!”

“M’ head...” Bofur murmured woozily, kicking through the pool of sand that had pinned him. He glanced to his right and saw the large mountain of rubble sway. “Oh, _MAHAL!_ ” he howled as the great bank came crashing down upon him and Fíli.

Shouting in horror, Dwalin scrambled backwards toward the others. Bombur and Bifur each grabbed a side of him and shook him furiously.

“You buried him too!” Bombur screamed in his face as Bifur raged in Khuzdûl.

Bofur, meanwhile, thrashed in panic beneath the surface. _Have to breathe, have to breathe!_ At last he broke the surface and choked up grit and pebbles that had lodged in his throat. Bofur worked at freeing his arms and suddenly his left hand brushed something, incredibly silky compared to the sand and stone. Hair and clothing, Bofur realized immediately. Fisting into whatever he could grasp, he dug his heels in and pulled upwards.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he prayed, pulling harder. Closing his eyes, Bofur hissed furiously at the sand and stone. “Ye were so cooperative in movin’ before. Move now!”

Bofur could have sworn it was Mahal himself who made the stone yield, for faster than he could blink Fíli’s head had emerged and was pillowed against his chest. Bofur gasped in delight.

“Thorin!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Thorin, I got him!”

The King Under the Mountain just barely caught the words over the Broadbeams’ fury. Quickly he hushed them, listening tensely.

“Thorin!” the voice came again. “I got him!” The handle of Bofur’s mattock waved over the edge. “Can someone help me up?”

Bombur and Bifur thankfully sank against each other and Kíli leapt to his feet with wide eyes. Before he could do anything, however, Thorin himself dashed up the rocky hill to help Bofur out.

Bofur soon stood on shaky legs with the unconscious prince in his arms. With something not unlike a sob of relief, Thorin threw his arms around the miner. Bofur stiffened slightly and Thorin drew back, either unwilling or unable to continue the embrace.

=

“...And what happened then?” Fíli asked softly from where he lay curled up in his bedroll by the fire.

“Then Bofur started shouting, ‘I got him, I got him!’. At first nobody heard him because Bifur and Bombur were screaming so loud at Dwalin,” Kíli explained, waving his hands around for emphasis. “But Uncle Thorin heard him and pulled him up by the mattock. Then, then—” Kíli leaned in, eyes wide. “—Uncle _hugged_ him!”

Fíli’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m not kidding, he actually hugged him!” Kíli exclaimed in a whisper. “Then we had to get all the sand out of you. That was the end of it.” Kíli sobered, reaching over to grip Fíli’s hand. “I...I was really worried, Fee,” he told him.

“Well,” Fíli remarked with a weak smile, “We accomplished what we wanted to.”

Kíli’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Uncle respects Bofur now,” Fíli whispered, yawning. “That’s what we were trying to do in the first place...” His eyes abruptly closed and his hand relaxed in Kíli’s hold.

Bofur watched Fíli and Kíli contemplatively from a distance. Humming quietly, Bofur composed a mellow little tune that sent small shivers through him. Closing his eyes, he swayed slightly as he hummed, remembering a dream of his mother that he had many years ago...but he jerked from his reverie when someone spoke.

“Bofur. Lift the mood, would you please?” Thorin requested gravely.

Bofur glanced over his shoulder up at the King. A strange, small smile lit his face, holding something that Thorin probably wouldn’t ever understand.

“Aye,” he agreed. He stood, retrieving his flute from his pack, and approached the light of the fire, raising a hand to catch the attention of the Company. When those who were awake had their eyes on him, he lifted the flute to his lips and began to play.

 


End file.
